


i'll say it again (again)

by clarythericebot



Category: PS I Still Love You - Fandom, To All the Boys I've Loved Before: PS I Still Love You, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, MUN - Freeform, toy ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarythericebot/pseuds/clarythericebot
Summary: The five times it could have been John Ambrose, and the one time it still could be. Movie-verse.
Relationships: John Ambrose McClaren & Lara Jean Song-Covey, John Ambrose McClaren/Lara Jean Song-Covey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	i'll say it again (again)

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this story to Johanna c:

It begins with politics.

Because duh.

John Ambrose McClaren is eleven years old, and he is of the opinion that girls are too scary to think about right now. (He knows it’s _girls_ he has to worry about because he gets this weird fluttery feeling in his chest whenever one smiles at him, and that just isn’t the case with, say, Peter or Trevor. Also, his radical feminist aunt tested him on the Kinsey scale. Even if he knew he wasn’t gay, she told him it’s never too early to be conscious of heteronormativity.)

(It takes a full session with his speech therapist for him to be able to pronounce that word.)

Which brings him to the thing he decided to devote his time and attention to: Model UN.

Issues like the ethics of international trade are a little tricky to comprehend, sure, but John _loves_ challenges like that. It’s like training to become a superhero. One day, the issues they’re debating about are really going to be in his generation’s hands, and John figures that the best way to prepare for that is to learn about them as much as possible.

Last week, the school announced that they would hold a practice session for the upcoming interschool conference. So on 6AM Saturday morning, John dons his slightly-too-large business suit, ignores Peter’s teasing when he crosses the football field, and walks with as much gravitas as he could muster towards the auditorium.

“Excuse me?”

He trips.

When he picks himself up again, he is facing a girl – _a girl!_ – three or four years older than him. She is wearing an amused smile. He gulps. “Y-yes?”

“Are you heading to Model UN?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods his head for emphasis, and then feels stupid for doing so.

“Thought you might,” the girl says. “You look like a leader.”

Now he’s blushing. He’s not even on the podium yet. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name?” the older girl asks.

Normally, John would have just said _John._ It’s what everyone calls him (apart from Trevor, who’s trying to get ‘J-man’ to catch on.) But this girl just called him a _leader,_ and no one’s ever said that to him before. He likes it. He thinks a leader would use his full name. “John Ambrose McClaren, representing Cuba.”

“It’s nice to meet you, John Ambrose McClaren. My name is Margot.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he says shyly.

Margot smiles at him again. “Would you mind if I ask you for a favor?”

“Uh, oh-okay.”

“My little sister is participating in this conference, too. Would you mind looking out for her?”

It’s only then that John notices a small form peeking behind Margot. It’s another girl – _another girl!_ – with large eyes and pigtails, dressed impeccably in a blue dress and blazer. “Hi,” she mumbles.

“Hello,” he says uncertainly.

All of a sudden, the smaller girl throws her arms around Margot’s waist. “Don’t make me go in,” she pleads. “I just want to go home.”

Margot puts her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “You were the one who signed up for this.”

“Baking class didn’t have any more slots,” she whispers.

“You said you wanted to try something new.”

“It was a terrible idea! I promise I won’t ever have any new ideas again if you take me home.”

Maybe he should have walked away. Registration is closing in a few minutes, the two girls he just met are having a squabble, and John doesn’t know much about girls _or_ squabbles.

But he did know something about fear. So he says, “I was nervous for my first Model UN, too.”

The younger girl blinks at him. It’s enough for his stomach to get that tight, fluttery feeling again, but he pushes on. “It’s really not so bad, though. We learn a lot and make jokes! You’ve already written your position papers, right?”

“Mmm-hmm, they’re in my backpack.”

“Well,” he says, “you’ve got to join now, or else you did all that extra homework for nothing.”

A corner of the girl’s lips move upwards.

Seeing that he’s gaining ground, John says, “Which country are you representing?”

“North Korea,” the girl says.

“Oh, wow,” John says. “You picked a communist country for your first time?”

“I-I didn’t know what that meant until I researched,” the girl says, her cheeks flushing. “I didn’t know it’d be so hard.”

“It’s okay! Representing a country like that is really interesting, and there are a lot of fun comments you can make about it. And hey, Cuba’s communist too. That means we’re on the same side.”

“Also, we’re both hiding missiles,” the girl quips.

Unexpectedly, a laugh flies out of him. Political jokes are his favorites, and if this is girl is making them already she’s going to do just fine.

She is smiling for real now—big and bright and hopeful. She nods at who John presumes is her older sister. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Margot kisses the top of her head. “Pick you up at 6,” she says. She catches John’s eye, mouths him thank you, and walks out of the school.

John is left alone with the girl.

A _girl._

A _pretty_ girl.

He suddenly doesn’t know what to say.

“So,” he begins.

She is chewing her lip again. “So.”

A bell rings. John slaps himself on the head. “That’s the warning! We’re late for registration!”

Both he and the girl forget their respective nervousness and dash down the hall, side by side, and get to the registration booth just in time. They are sweaty and flustered—the opposite of how John wanted to arrive. But when the girl shoots him a helpless grin, he finds that he doesn’t care one bit.

_ _ _

John sticks with her all throughout the conference.

She doesn’t need it, really – the delegate of North Korea is wicked smart, though also a little reserved. John explains to her some terns and protocols ( _“How do I tell the Chair if I’m offended that they’re declaring war on my country?” she asks, and he says, “Point of Grievance”)_ but she does fine on her own, and makes valuable contributions when their makeshift team is putting together a resolution paper.

“Is it okay, though, if I don’t join many debates?” she asks. “I’m not sure if I can argue with anyone yet.”

“Totally fine,” he assures her. “I think you’re being plenty brave already.”

_ _ _

An hour later, both of them are typing furiously on a Google doc. The resolution is about climate change—something that John is passionate about, considering that his moms met in an environmental rally. He is tweaking some of their clauses just to make sure they are air-tight.

Meanwhile, it turns out that the delegate of North Korea is the fastest typist of them all, and a talented writer to boot. The rest of the team are throwing out millions of suggestions a minute and – John doesn’t know how she does it – his new friend catches and transforms them into a perfectly succinct phrase. The Chair (in this practice session, their teacher) announces the break just as they are scribbling out the last sentence.

“Done,” North Korea says, and the entire team cheers.

“Now someone just needs to take it to the printer,” the delegate of the Philippines says.

“I’ll do it,” John volunteers. “You guys go ahead.”

North Korea gives him a nervous glance, but then Teddy, the delegate of the US, is promising to treat her to some ice-cream, and Denmark and Austria are complimenting how well she’s done so far, and John knows that she’s in good hands. All the same, he asks her, “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll manage,” she says. “I think.”

“Just shoot missiles at them if they bother you.” That earns him a last laugh before she’s swept out of the room.

John turns back to his laptop. He downloads the resolution carefully, his fingers tingling in excitement as he plugs out his USB.

“Quite a team you’ve made back here,” says a voice behind him. It’s Ms. Lee, their teacher and the Chair of this conference.

John smiles. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“Do you like what you’ve come up with?”

“I think it’s the best one I’d ever been a part of.”

“Really?” Ms. Lee’s eyes crinkle. “That is a statement, John. I remember some of your other resolutions. The agricultural campaign-“

“This one’s the best,” John says.

“I see.” Ms. Lee meets his eyes. “Then I suppose you won’t mind being the Main Submitter.”

John’s mouth suddenly goes dry. “What-“

“ _And,”_ Ms. Lee adds, “accept at least three points of information. I want to see you sharpen your debating skills, John.”

“But—but Ms. Lee, I can’t. I’m—I’m not r-ready-“

“You’ve been to four conferences already.”

“But my stutter”

“--is something you’ve worked on, and it hasn’t you bothered today, has it?”

John shook his head reluctantly. “We already agreed that Sam would be the main submitter, though.”

“Sam has been informed. They’re quite excited about it, actually, since they’ve been Main Submitter twice and they haven’t seen you make the attempt before.”

John can hear a roar in his ears, feel his blood pumping rapidly. He can’t do this. He does not want to do this.

Ms. Lee sighs. “I know it’s hard, John. But you’ve told me you want a career in politics someday, and that means stepping out of your comfort zone for something you feel is more important than your fear. Do you understand?”

Slowly, John nods.

“Good.” Ms. Lee smiles at him. “Go and rehearse with your friends. I’ll take your USB stick to the printer.”

_ _ _

“There he is!” Sam yells as soon as John gets to the table. “Our Main Submitter!”

The team bursts into applause, and John offers them a weak smile. He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes to grab a banana from the snack table. (Anything more and he’d probably throw it up.)

When he returns, the conversation is at full swing about which resolutions the delegates are rooting for. This is usually the part John enjoys the most – the midway point, wherein he gets a moment to relax and spend time with his new friends – but this time he’s far too much in his head, rehearsing over and over what he wanted to say.

 _Forget_ passing this resolution. He just wants to make sure he won’t make a fool of himself.

He hopes his team will forgive him.

“Hey,” a voice whispers. It’s North Korea. “Come with me to get dessert?”

They head to the old vending machine. North Korea inserts fifty cents and the machine slowly starts churning out hot chocolate, drop by drop. She turns to him. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he admits. He supposes there’s no point denying it, considering as he’s as pale as his skin would allow.

She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m Main Submitter.”

“Is—isn’t that a good thing? The leader and main presenter of the resolution?”

“Yeah,” he says. “For someone who isn’t me.”

“Why? You seem pretty great.” She blushes. “At this, I mean.”

“Only when I’m expecting it or when I choose to be at the podium,” he counters. He stares at his hands. They gleam with sweat. “I’m going to be the first one to talk about the resolution. I need to try to convince the naysayers, or at least not give them reasons to vote no. And _then_ I’m probably going to get into three debates. I’m not sure how I can do this alone without sounding stupid.”

“You won’t sound stupid,” she soothes. “And you’re not alone. The rest of the team will be cheering you on.”

“It’s not the same, though. Not like having someone next to you.”

“No,” his new friend concedes. “It’s not.”

_ _ _

John feels a lump in his throat as the floor opens for resolutions. His team is slotted to be first. When the motion is passed, all eyes turn to him expectantly, and he feels like a fat goat in a cage full of ravenous lions. He rises from his seat, inwardly begs his hands to stop trembling, and stumbles towards the podium.

Ms. Lee reminds him he has about five minutes to present. He nods, and then he clears his throat. He cannot get his tongue under control.

He is going to die.

“M-m-my fel-l-low d-d-deleg-gates-“

“Point of Grievance!”

All eyes turn in shock to the delegate of North Korea. The short girl’s cheeks are flaming red, but her mouth is set and determined.

“Delegate,” Ms. Lee says slowly, “this is your team’s resolution.”

“”Th-that’s my point,” the girl says.

Ms. Lee raises her eyebrows. “Please clarify. What is your grievance?”

“My grievance-“

“Third-person,” Ms. Lee reminds her.

“The delegate of North Korea’s grievance is that she worked on the resolution as much as the delegate of Cuba did. Therefore, she also…also deserves to be a Main Submitter.”

“You want to be Main Submitter instead?”

“No!” the girl yelps, and then clears her throat. “I mean…no. The delegate of North Korea wishes to be a Co-Main Submitter.”

“Delegate,” Ms. Lee says, her brows furrowed, “there is no such role. There is only one Main Submitter per resolution.”

“Objection!” Teddy, the US delegate, cries. “Motion to allow North Korea to be Co-Main Submitter! All in favor?”

Everyone raises their placards.

Ms. Lee shakes her head in bewilderment. “This is not protocol.” She meets John’s eyes. He stares at her pleadingly, and she sighs. “But just this once, I’ll allow it. _If,_ ” she adds, cutting through the cheer, “the delegate of North Korea is willing to answer three points of information as well.”

North Korea bites her lip, but she nods. “Okay.”

“Go ahead,” Ms. Lee says, waving her towards John.

The girl practically sprints to the podium. She is next to John in less than a second.

“Okay?” she asks him when she gets there. She is breathless.

“Yeah,” he replies. “You?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You read out loud the clauses and I’ll do the presentation.”

“Sounds good,” she says.

Then John is facing the lions again. He feels much better now than he was earlier, but there is no changing the fact that this is his first time he’s really, truly speaking in public without weeks of preparation. He takes a few calming breaths.

Wordlessly, the delegate of North Korea slips her hand into his.

“Delegates, _awwing_ and clapping is _not_ in order,” Ms. Lee scolds the crowd, but even she is fighting back a smile. “Delegate of Cuba, you may continue.”

John is blushing as he speaks. “My fellow delegates-“

_ _ _

In other circumstances, John would have been embarrassed. He’s holding hands with a _girl_ in public and that—that isn’t really a thing that’s done in middle school. At this age, boys were supposed to show girls they liked them by pulling their hair and teasing. But his moms already told him that kind of thing enables sexism, and John’s never been into it, anyway.

He’s never been into the mix of fascination and disgust boys his age had for girls, either—saying they had cooties and making fun of guys like Lucas who preferred to spend their time with them. He just found girls scary, plain and simple as that, and decided to just not think about them unless he absolutely had to.

His new friend, however, is not scary. She is holding his hand and he feels less alone. The speech goes off without a hitch.

When it’s her turn to do the three rounds of debates, he squeezes her hand reassuringly just like she did. She conducts herself well, and even the delegate of Egypt, one of the most aggressive MUNers John knew, ended his speech with: “This delegate accepts that North Korea made excellent points, and while he still has some reservations, he congratulates North Korea on her excellent explanation.”

Their resolution passes with a near-unanimous vote.

_ _ _

  
What’s happening now?” North Korea asks.

It is the end of the day, and they are just wrapping up award ceremony. Teddy got best delegate overall, and John was the runner up. The delegate of North Korea was a shoe-in for best newcomer.

But now it looks like the teachers are holding a new set of awards.

“Oh, those are the superlatives,” John explains. “They’re wards that we make up just for fun. Look, it’s the first one!”

“Best punny analogies,” Ms. Lee says, “goes to the delegate of Brazil!”

A tall, lanky brunet walks onstage with a swagger. He raises the plaque high and remarks, “I guess you could say…I’m Brazilliant.”

He leaves the stage amidst laughs and boos.

“Best in Causing Chaos Without Actually Breaking the Rules” goes to Teddy again, and “Most Likely to Declare War” is practically tossed to the delegate of Australia. John thinks that it’s over, but Ms. Lee has one more category to announce.

“Cutest couple,” she begins, and is instantly drowned out.

“ _Cuba and North Korea! Cuba and North Korea! Cuba and North Korea!”_

The crowd continues to chant as John and his friend walk to the stage together. John glances at her at the corner of his eye and finds that she is doing the same. He smiles at her.

She smiles back.

Both of them are pink-faced when they accept their awards.

“And that concludes our in-school MUN practice,” Ms. Lee announces. “Make sure you hand in your permission slips for the official one by next Friday!”

_ _ _

“Are you sure you want to wait with me?” his friend asks. They are sitting at the bus stop in front of the school. The bus had long since come and gone, but she said that this is where her sister usually picked her up so that they could go by a nearby restaurant to wait for their dad.

“Yeah,” John assures her. “I just live a few blocks away. It’s no problem.”

“Okay. Um…thanks for looking after me today.”

“Are you kidding? You practically saved my life when you volunteered to go up with me. I don’t think I could have done that in my first MUN.” The girl smiles, looking down at the grass. “You were awesome today, North Korea.”

“My name isn’t actually North Korea, you know,” the girl says playfully.

“Uh, sure. Of course.”

There is an awkward pause.

“Oh my gosh!” the girl cries. “You don’t know my name!”

“Yeah, didn’t quite catch it,” John admits.

“You could have asked,” she says.

“I figured it was too late!”

“Boys are so weird,” she says to herself. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Lara Jean Song-Covey.”

He shakes the proffered hand with a repentant grin. “Pleased to meet you, Lara Jean Song-Covey. My name is-“

“I know,” she says. “It’s John Ambrose McClaren.” She smiles. “I think it’s really cool how we both go by our first two names.”

John decides then and there to go by _John Ambrose_ forever.

“Lara Jean!” a voice calls. Both of them turn to see Margot walking towards them. Lara Jean jumps up and gives her sister a big hug. “I’m sorry I’m so late,” she says. “Dad needed me to-“

“That’s okay!” Lara Jean says cheerfully. “Come and meet my new boyfriend!”

Her _what_?

“Your what?” Margot says.

“Boyfriend,” Lara Jean repeats. “The other delegates voted us for cutest couple, so that means we’re a couple, right?” She directs her question to him.

John (now John Ambrose) shrugs because he honestly has no idea. “I mean, I guess so. I really like you, so I think that we are.”

“I really like you, too,” Lara Jean says with a smile. She really is awfully pretty.

Margot is watching them with a small smile of her own. “John, you should come over to our house next week. Dad can make a mean pot-pie, and Lara Jean is the best baker. You’re making peanut butter cupcakes next week, right?” Lara Jean nods. 

John Ambrose’s stomach rumbles just thinking about it. “I’d love to go,” he says.

“I’ll tell you the details on Monday,” Lara Jean says. “Meet you by the football field bleachers?”

He gives her a thumbs-up.

She and Margot walk away arm-in-arm. The last thing he hears asking her sister is if she thinks flower crowns are suitably important-looking enough to wear the next MUN conference.

_ _ _

John Ambrose McClaren is eleven years old, and he doesn’t know a thing about girls. At all.

But he is looking forward to getting to know this one.


End file.
